


High Voltage

by While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend



Series: Weird, sexy, disturbing, fierce - Dark!Gordlock stories [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: After dreaming about it vividly, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dancing, Dark!Jim, Disco, Disturbing behaviour, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Early Season 4, Eighties Rock Music, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashdance Elements, Getting Together, Gotham (TV) is set in the mid to late eighties, Hurt Jim Gordon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jim Gordon Has Issues, M/M, Magic Mike Elements, Pining, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective!HarveyBullock, Rough Kissing, Sexy, Stripping, TetchVirus!Jim, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Violent Thoughts, Weirdness, not beta read we die like men, you know you want it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23382718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend/pseuds/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend
Summary: Post Season 3 Finale, a few weeks after the Tetch Virus outbreak: Harvey follows Jim into a club one night. Things sort of unravel from there...Or: Some very evocative dancing coming up after the prologue, involving one of our favorite detectives.
Relationships: Harvey Bullock/Jim Gordon
Series: Weird, sexy, disturbing, fierce - Dark!Gordlock stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681837
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	High Voltage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [countessrivers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessrivers/gifts), [TheFierceBeast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this shameless decent into darkness and TetchVirus!Jim, he he. If I may be so bold, just had a feeling that you might like the general direction of this! ;)

He’d thought it would be over with the antidote.

At least, he’d hoped it would be over.

Lucius Fox had insinuated that it would be, and he was the smartest man he knew.

But it wasn’t.

The Tetch Virus had infected a good third of Gotham’s total population. Jim had felt forced to inject himself with it on that fateful day, desperate to get to the bomb site. There had been no time, and it had been the only way to get out of his coffin alive, the one Lee had buried him in, bruised and unconscious. He didn’t want to think back to that experience much, nor about the first thrill as the virus had spread through his body, the singing energy and hunger making him feel invincible, even there in the airless darkness. 

He’d taken the antidote later, shoved it into his neck, resigned himself to go back to his pathetic, tainted self that he loathed. The man that hadn’t saved Gotham from the Tetch Virus. The man that had been too late to stop the bomb, just because he’d waited too long to inject himself.

_Because he hadn’t been selfless enough._

He’d tried, he had. It hadn’t been enough. It never was, in Gotham.

Jim was a killer, not a savior. Not a hero. It was almost gratifying to embrace that fact, under the influence of the virus.

Later, he’d wanted to die of shame and self-hatred of how badly he’d failed.

But that had all been weeks ago. He thought he'd been coping. Had healed - as much as anyone was able to after yet more trauma.

This shouldn’t have happened; it shouldn’t have _come back_.

_Why was never anything over in Gotham?_

The virus still simmered with him, in the back alleys of his DNA, in the tendrils of his immune system. He didn’t know where it had hidden it’s ugly, monstrous face inside him in the past weeks, but he couldn’t have been cured completely. He was one of the unlucky ones, part of that very low percentage of people who couldn’t quite lose Tetch's influence over them. One of those poor bastards that were locked up in Arkham, usually, if they couldn’t control the aggressive or other disturbing outbursts the virus triggered.

Jim Gordon was still an incurable monster.

Which, in itself, was maybe not surprising. But it was his personal hell, to succumb to his darkness.

Now, every few weeks, the virus returned, reared up, grappled for control of the steering wheel. Especially under stress it came to him, the well of anger and despair and hunger filling up inside, levels rising dangerously, until, always following a massive headache foretelling its arrival, it broke out like the plague to his humanity that it was. Kind of like Herpes, but ten times more dangerous and ten times as visible.

He wouldn’t let it gain full control over him again.

As Jim didn’t have much of a stress-free job, he could count on that damn thing returning regularly, his usually cobalt eyes running dark and murky like dried blood once more.

The first time it had happened to him, it had been a Sunday. Jim remembered. It had been a Sunday, and he’d stumbled into the bathroom, not able to believe what was happening.

He’d watched in mute horror as the blackness spread outward, the pale skin around his unsettling eyes mottling into strains of purple, red and black, until his veins stood out like coiled snakes, trailing curtains of black brushing his cheek bones. He had looked just as devilish and unhinged as he had when he’d thrown Harvey against that train car. A horrible memory, to be sure.

The super-strength and the blasted hunger to _hurt and kill and keep moving, keep running, keep hunting_ had risen up like a tidal wave. It had all been so overwhelming he’d trashed half his apartment in an aggressive frenzy, then dry-swallowed as many painkillers as he could find to somehow sedate himself, at least take the edge off, and finally passed out.

Or so he thought. But maybe he hadn’t.

When Jim Gordon had woken up a few hours later, he was still in his apartment.

Considering the alternative, that was good news.

He noticed he was also lying on the floor of his dusty living room. In his boxers. Covered in scratch marks and, seemingly, at one point, have bitten at his own arm.

Definitely less than good news.

The music channel was running on the television, currently set to mute.

And all furniture had been shoved up aggressively against the walls, creating a clear space of bare floor boards. In middle of which he was lying, almost naked.

That just... felt wrong. It disturbed him. 

_What had he used the cleared space for?_

It was a relief that he hadn’t hurt anyone, though. Apparently, he hadn’t lost it quite as bad. He’d felt a strong urge to leave his apartment, create havoc, hurt somebody.

But he hadn’t. Good news.

He could live with hurting himself, but he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting others... not if they had done nothing wrong, at least. 

_Had he somehow found a way to control the uncontrollable, until it went away again?_

He wished he could talk to somebody about this. But he couldn’t. Not even Harvey. Jim was too ashamed of himself. Was maybe a little scared of the looks, of the talking, after everything else he had broken beyond repair. Of the _failure_ he presented to the world, that he couldn’t even be cured of the Virus in his blood, like other normal people.

_Maybe because his soul was too black._

He hated himself for being scared that telling someone and asking for help could cost him his job. Should cost him his job.

_He hated himself for being so selfish. He clearly didn't deserve to want anything. He was a fallen man. Even keeping his job was a wish he shouldn't grant himself, not like this._

_Selfish._

_Disturbed._

_Broken and twisted beyond anyone's affection._

_Withered._

Jim had studied himself for a long time in the fragments of the bathroom mirror on the floor, looking for any signs of the monster within. But only blue eyes had stared back at him. Tired blue eyes.

They looked so human.

And he’d wondered: Could he really find a way to make this work? He was a walking danger sign, wasn't he...

**_You're a killer... a killer..._ **

But what if he could make his affliction... more manageable, without hurting anyone?

He didn’t have another choice, anyway, did he? 

Eventually, Jim had returned to the trashed living room. He'd sat down on the hard floorboards. Then he'd turned the music back on and closed his eyes.

Feeling his inhibitions unravel slowly, the fine line separating the light from the dark losing itself in the pulsing beat of his blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know what happened there, but needed to get this out of my system.  
> In my defense, have been planning to write some TetchVirus!Jim for ages. And then this dream came along in February and I was like... oh, okay, really? Alright. 
> 
> Am aware that this is an odd choice of timing to post this, considering the general state of the world at the moment. Please don't examine it too closely or take it the wrong way. Desperately needed Dark!Jim doing some strange stuff, okay?  
> Comments and/or Kudos always go a long way! Would be thrilled if you found the time. Thanks for reading! Stay@Home and Stay Safe :)


End file.
